


Understanding

by Vashoth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Implied Sexual Abuse, Not lighthearted at all, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth/pseuds/Vashoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days he was more alert, she noticed. His blows would come quicker, more frantic, more desperate. Like each one had to land. His eyes would be bright and at the same time glossed over like he didn't see her. Like her movements were a pattern he observed from a distance and missed nothing.</p><p>She lived for those days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a warning, this fic touches on some really nasty points regarding Fenris' slavery. Trigger warnings for violence in general and implied sexual abuses. If you're looking for a happy fic, this ain't it.
> 
> Additionally, this is an AU where Rees is not the daughter of Malcolm, but instead of Leandra Amell and a Tal-Vashoth Saarebas. Stuff happened (more details in the fic) and she ended up under the heel of Danarius alongside Fenris instead of escaping Seheron to safer lands.

Some days he was more alert, she noticed. His blows would come quicker, more frantic, more desperate. Like each one  _had_ to land. His eyes would be bright and at the same time glossed over like he didn't see her. Like her movements were a pattern he observed from a distance and missed nothing.

She  _lived_ for those days.

She moved like breathing, watching the flicks in his wrists and the pivot of his heels like stars. It felt like she made progress, but she wasn't sure towards what. Sure, towards whatever the fuck the magister was planning, but it didn't feel like that. Not so much as it felt like she felt free. Just a tiny bit of it flavoured their dance. The freedom to move and react; something she never realized could be revoked. Hatred coursed through her blood and seethed liquid into her muscles hot and stinging as if the magister's name had been spoken. As if he'd had the gall to watch their sparring like it was an amusement to him.

Her fist connected with his side and he yelped, startling her back to reality. Too late she realized he had recovered and he shoved her hard enough to knock the wind from her chest. She landed hard on her back, careful at least in the last seconds to keep her limbs from getting tangled under her. He watched her with eyes wider than his fists and looked between her and them like he couldn't find the relation. She blinked back at him, coughing hard to restart her heart.

The glaze returned like it always did. Though today it was coupled with a nervous twitch she couldn't track. He moved like something scratched under his skin. Like there was a bug he couldn't quite see.

She narrowed her eyes and waited too long watching him before seeking the healer.

. . . . . . . . . . .

"You weren't shit today." She grinned, fiddling with the bandage on her ankle. The cot was unforgiving and the paste beneath it itched.

He grunted. He shut the door quietly behind him. It was the second time this week he'd been in late.

She slid the offending limb under the paper thin sheets, only wincing once or twice. Her shoulders were too broad for the bed beneath her and she forced herself to curl onto her side. Her head ducked painfully close to her chest to avoid skewering her horns into the wall. Across the room, she could hear him fidget.

"Go to  _sleep_ , Goose."

He huffed again and she heard him flip onto his other side. Fuckin' elf was able to fit on the cots easily. And shift. Without trouble. Again and a-fucking-gain. Rees groaned, starting low and quiet and ending with turning over sharply to demonstrate exactly how irritated she was.

Faint glowing green slits looked back at her, unrest plain even in the dark. She frowned and temporarily forgot her qualms. Fenris had pressed himself against the flat of the stone wall behind his cot, and held himself rigid with one hand flat on the mattress. His ears were bone straight and turned just enough to make it obvious even without elven eyes to see the subtlety.

"You aren't hurt, are you?" She asked quietly. She wasn't sure why.

Green eyes flashed open wider spilling color onto the sweat stained pillow. He looked at her like he didn't recognize her for a long minute before shaking his head softly. For whatever reason, it wasn't reassuring.

Rees sat up in her cot and he flinched hard. She heard the crack of his skull against the wall and watched his torso bounce away from it like a rubber ball. Her frown deepened. The light in the room dimmed as his eyes narrowed to slits.

"Go to sleep,  _Mora_." He hissed.

"Not with you doing fucking backflips over there. What the shit is up with you today?" She growled. He stayed perfectly still, unable or unwilling to give any further indications.

"What, are you  _concerned_?" He sneered quietly. "Worried about me?"

"Yes," she answered bluntly, not seeing the reason for shock, but nevertheless received it. She heaved an exasperated sigh and pushed her weight to the edge of the bed (ignoring how it bent under her) and reached slowly over to where he lay. He didn't flinch but his eyes did not leave the approaching hand. It reminded her of Bethy watching Templars. She slowed before she reached him and the air itself felt like it froze. His gaze flitted between the outstretched fingers and Rees' face. The distrust was plain.

"What the fuck are you wanting me to do?" He growled. She felt her frown deepen.

"Show me the fucking injury," she said, waggling her fingers for emphasis.

"And you're going to… punch it better?"

She caught the barest motion of an eyebrow raising. Tension she didn't know she was storing in her chest lifted slightly. "No, Goose, I'm going to  _kiss_ it better," she said wryly. Another flinch.

He slowly pushed himself up into a hunched sitting position. His eyes hardly blinked but she could see the pain in his movements visibly. The way he avoided putting weight on his knees told her everything she needed to know.

"He beat you." It wasn't a question. And the rage in her voice was hardly contained. He didn't answer. She felt the feeling boil over into her throat and felt the words coming out before she spoke them. "He fucking beat you and  _you still defend him_?"

"Beating slaves is not a rarity." Fenris said simply. "It… could be worse."

" _How_?" She demanded and gestured to the dark room around them. Another flinch. She ignored it. "How does this get  _worse_?"

He shrugged and winced again. "Some slaves don't survive their beatings."

She laughed hollowly. He was right. A bitter scowl spread like poison on her tongue. She had to swallow to stop from spitting more bile and cursing Danarius for every ounce of freedom he'd taken from her. Every second of pain he'd caused. Every single abuse. She grit her teeth and resisted, knowing her master's name lingering in the air between them would not help. It was the same damn song and dance as when they fought. She'd wish painful deaths on the magister and Fenris would quiet her and look around scared like he might have lost favor. She didn't understand it. She couldn't.

"Come closer." The words sounded more terse than she had wanted, but she wasn't going to lose sleep over it.

He hesitated for just a split second before complying. She bit back a barbed comment about obedience and focused on his injuries instead. Once he was closer, it was easier to see the discolouring around his neck, wrists, shoulders and mouth. A blackened shape of a hand closed around his throat and purpled towards the tips of the fingers. She realized with disgust that with his leathers laced up to his chin, none of the marks Danarius had left would be visible. She wondered how many times they had sparred after he'd been beaten.

She reached out her hand again, careful to keep her movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle him. She could see his jaw clench as she got close and checked with him to make sure he was still alright. He gave the slightest of nods and she pressed her warm palm against the crook of his neck where the bruises were deepest. He flinched again slightly and squeezed his eyes shut. Without the soft green glow, the room was pitch black. Rees waited patiently and was careful not to press too hard.

"Heat and pressure prevent swelling," she explained. "I… I am no healer. But body heat is better than nothing when you are deprived basic dignities." There was no small amount of bitterness to her voice. She couldn't bring herself to regret it.

She felt him lean into her touch and carefully reach out to touch the hand that wasn't holding his injury. She stiffened a little. Only then did she notice he was shaking.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

They stood in attention usually hours before the magister decided to grace his sitting room with his presence. Though really, "sitting room" was a formality. The large ornate chair at the thin end of the table did little to mask its likeness to a throne. None of the magister's affluent guests was stupid enough to point this out, however. Of course not. They did not want to garner the Archon's attention to their own thrones sitting indelicately throughout their slave filled estates.

It was hard not to look like she'd smelled something sour when the heavily perfumed nobility strolled through the room and discussed the rich books on the shelves as much as they tried to subtly eye the rarities dotting the shelves. She hated that it had the exact intimidating effect Danarius was obviously so pleased with whenever she scowled openly at the guests. She hated the impassivity on Fenris' face as he stood on the opposite end of the throne.

Occasionally, guests would come to examine them up close. The exotic "oxman" ( _Vashoth, Vashoth, Vashoth_ ) and the painted elf. There was no paint, of course. Just the blistering lyrium tattoos in his skin. But that did not stop them from reaching out to touch, or to look at him like a horse they thought of buying.

The touching always stopped when the master himself entered, as if they were worried their greed was somehow easier to ignore when they weren't actively salivating. Rees focused hard on not reacting, on keeping her gaze straight ahead as she had been instructed. Still, she stole looks at Fenris hoping in vain to see the fury she felt reflected on his face too. She was always disappointed.

"He is lovely, Marquette," Danarius' voice was smooth and answered a statement no one had dared say loud enough. " _Please_ , don't let me interrupt your viewing! If I had not wanted him to garner attention, I would have chosen a more subtle design." The nervous guests murmured their chuckles as he paused to slink a hand around the back of Fenris' neck. Rees saw him tense oh so slightly. Had she not known of the bruises from the night before, she might have missed it.

His eyes were still fixed ahead of him, staring into blank space but they were fixed with a purpose. Fear touched his face just above his wan cheeks and in the shadows under his brows. He seemed to be determined to be impassive, ignoring the soft strokes at the base of his head and the way Danarius' fingers curled into his hair.

"Your oxman is jealous of your attentions, Danarius," A young kiss-ass named Pellio was sauntering over to where the gaggle stood staring at Fenris. Rees had given up trying to be subtle and scowled openly. The young man sneered in her direction, excited to win favor from the powerful magister.

Danarius frowned lightly at her, for all appearances gentle and firm. She saw the cold anger flicker across his eyes and she felt herself barely repress a snarl. "Do not trouble yourself with my slaves, Master Pellio," the magister said coldly. He lifted his chin in the air enough to show he was above the whole mess as he approached Rees.

She felt her stomach tighten into knots and did not miss the blatantly terrified look Fenris shot her before remembering his surroundings. Still she didn't waver. She couldn't. It took everything in her willpower to not start a massacre with the decorative knives hitched to her hips. Even glued into their sheaths she could still do some damage. Danarius seemed to recognize the confidence in her and lashed out. She saw the blow coming a mile away and side-stepped it out of nothing but habit.

Mistake.

Around him the young nobles tittered about her disobedience, remarking in coded statements about Danarius himself. Even her own resistance said nothing about her so much as it did about  _him_. She was considered as much his as his own arms and she  _seethed_. She looked again at Fenris and saw abject horror on his face as plain as the markings dragging down his chin. He'd gone pale enough that he swayed where he stood and his ears were pressed as low and flat as she had ever seen. That, and nothing else made her still when she saw the next blow coming.

Danarius snapped out with his staff and lightning licked up her side like razor wire. She howled out in pain and collapsed to her knees. The blunt end of his staff came down hard on her head and she saw white as she tasted red. Still struggling to catch her breath, she felt his grip like a vice around her chin and wondered briefly what had possessed her to fight back. The thought twisted horribly around in her chest until her scowl returned but she felt the touch of fear in her eyes. It stung like tears and she wasn't sure she could tell the difference as he pulled her forcefully to her feet.

"Such is their temperament," Danarius said casually as his eyes held fire. He spoke through her, to the gaggle of smug men and women behind him. "She cannot help it so much as a dog can help pissing itself." The guests laughed louder this time, more freely, and his grip on her chin loosened. She let out a breath she'd been holding. Still though, she held his gaze without fear-or as best she could manage. He seemed to take note. "Still, you may be right. Sometimes I forget in my old age how stupid such beasts can be. I apologize for the disturbance, Pellio. My pet promises not to bite,  _doesn't she_?"

She wanted so badly to spit the pool of blood that welled in her cheeks onto his silks. She wanted so badly to skewer him and show him exactly what her horns were good for. But she saw the swaying ghost of her bunkmate just out of the corner of her eyes and remembered the bruises that dotted the skin of Danarius'  _favourite_. So she clenched her jaw enough so that he could feel it and steeled her gaze.

"Yes,  _Master_."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was the third night in a row that he was coming back late. Or would be. He wasn't back yet and it was weighing heavily in the Vashoth woman's mind. The bruises she hadn't noticed the first time had deepened after only the second round of beatings and she couldn't get what he had said before.

_Some slaves don't survive their beatings._

Her gut clenched uncomfortably and she still favoured her right side from the lightning whip Danarius had employed but still she felt the cold knot of dread she was becoming accustomed to. Her eyes squeezed shut and she tried not to think about life without Fenris. Having to bow to the magister's will or risk death before she could see her sister again. Her heart ached and she tried to force the image of Bethany screaming for her or the tears on her sisters face as she insisted that she'd buy her time. She had killed at least four underling magisters before she'd been taken out and still felt pride about it.

More, now that she was pressed under the heel of one.

Even that memory wouldn't be enough to keep her from madness, though. Baba had seldom spoke of the rage that ran in the blood of the qun, of the demons that could tear their way down a mages throat or the violence associated with him; with his kind.  _Vashoth_ , she repeated to herself. Not Tal-Vashoth. Not Qunari.  _Vashoth_.

She wondered if she would hear screaming if Fenris died. It was a dark thought, but it didn't mind scouring the corners of her mind for refuge. Would the maids and servants even blink? Was it unusual for the favourite to die painfully? The lump in her throat hurt more than she wanted to admit and she wasn't sure when she'd sat up-but she had.

Her feet tapped lightly on the ground, wanting, wanting to go seek out the magister's rooms. To skulk around the dungeons and make sure he was alright. It was a silly urge. The elf had done her no favours certainly but…

The look he'd had when Danarius struck her. The way he'd looked like he was going to faint when the magister promised her further attention. She couldn't erase it. She couldn't ignore it.

And she couldn't do this alone.

Her muscles carried her out into the hall quietly, thanking the Creators that she blended in with the black of the Tevinter night-even in the manse. She kept her bad shoulder close to the wall, using it as a guide when she couldn't see her own feet and an outstretched hand before her as both a brace and a warning. She ignored the knot in her stomach again, wondering how often he had done the same.

It wasn't a far walk. Benefits of being entrusted with the magister's safety, she supposed. She had to be near enough to die on his wretched behalf should the mansion be under attack. She was expected to want to. It unsettled her.

Moaning leaked into the dark hallway under the door lined with golden light. Danarius' voice, she was sure. Grunts and loud slapping noises and sharp words given in ferocious snaps. She froze where she stood, not sure how to proceed. She heard Fenris too, trying weakly to cease cries of pain and sobs and coughing gags each being accentuated with the sound of a heavy blow and a vicious command. Her world spun around her and the bruises on his throat blackened so visibly in her mind. The way he tensed when he touched his-

Rees ran. She made no effort to hide the sound of her feet on marble and ran as hard as she could to her room. She could not sleep through the panicked breath in her chest so she restrained her movement and pretended not to notice when her bunkmate limped pitifully into his own cot.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In the morning they sparred before breakfast. His eyes were wide and alert, his moves fast and desperate. She saw the sleeplessness in his eyes and the terror in his movements. She saw the quick glances he stole behind him and how hard he flinched whenever someone moved in the corner of his vision.

She stumbled purposefully and let the fight end early.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rees sat on the edge of her cot and sharpened one of the knives she'd stolen from training. It was small and barely longer than a steak knife but it was a blade nonetheless. The handle was warped in her hands, obviously built for someone smaller. But Rees was not small. She ran the flat of it along the top of her arm and was satisfied to see it shave the hair off her without difficulty. Fenris' feet shuffled awkwardly in front of her.

"You…" He paused. She listened but did not look. The stone in her palm swiped swiftly across the flat of the blade. "What are you doing?"

She did not answer.

"We are forbidden from having weapons-"

"I know."

He quieted and again shuffled his weight from foot to foot. She very pointedly avoided his gaze. She wasn't sure why. She could see the limp still hovering to his left and swallowed another wave of nausea. He paced to and from his cot, stopping occasionally to turn towards her. It took him four rounds to speak again.

"Master requested your presence." He spat it out quickly and she could hear the warble in his voice clearer than she had seen Danarius' blow coming. She did not stop sharpening the blade.

"I know."

He stilled. "Audrianna, you cannot-"

"Rees." She corrected him sharply. It was the first time he'd used her name, but she would be cold in the ground before she would have him use the full of it. If tonight went as planned, someone should know her by Rees. Someone might have to tell Bethany. She swallowed sharply. "It's Rees. And yes, I  _can_."

He sat gently across from her and took her hands in his, stilling her motion. She tried to tear her hands away but he held them firm and she did not feel inclined to hurt him. He plucked the knife from her grip and fingered the edge of the blade's wrapped handle. He did not look angry as she had expected, or sad as she had feared. He looked empty, and it was worse than the two combined.

"This… This is not a good death," he said slowly. "I have seen it on others. It is slow and shallow and there is no peace in it."

"Good."

His eyes flickered up to her own. "I know I have not been kind but…" He swallowed again. "There is no way to dissuade you?"

"You defend him still. Why?" Rees demanded sharply. He looked taken aback.

"Him?"

" _Danarius_ ," she snarled the name, savouring every ounce of venom she could pour into it. Fenris flinched back like he'd been hit. She did not pause. "I know what he has done and still,  _still!_ "

Fenris' skin was as pale as it had been the day of the gathering and his mouth hung open in shock. The blade rested in his hands like he feared it would bite him and he dropped it sharply onto the floor. Rees snatched it up and continued her motions as if he had not interrupted her.

"I did not realize you…" He gestured at the knife again. "I thought this was for your own-" He gestured at his own wrists and she looked up at him blankly. He traced a finger vertically across his arm meaningfully and her eyes widened. She barked out a sharp laugh and shook her head.

"No," she said, "this knife is not for me. Or you." As an afterthought, "Though I suppose in a way it will cut me first."

He looked concerned. She sighed and held up the knife so he could see it. "It's small," she said pointedly. He nodded, understanding still far from his expression. She wobbled it. "And thin. Not strong enough to cut deep."

"Then your endeavors will not only be suicidal, but fruitless-" He started angrily, but she cut him off pointing at her own horns.

"These are not. And this," she pointed at the knife again with a small grimace, "is more than enough to saw through them."

He stared at her. At her horns and her tapered ears. It was like it had only just then occurred to him that she had significantly different anatomy. She snorted and continued her work on the blade. "Never seen an  _oxman_ up close?"

"Qunari," he corrected.

" _Vashoth_ ," she insisted with no small amount of anger.

He looked surprised. "Vashoth?"

She nodded, palm still working the stone against the blade she meant to cut her own horns off with. It was a peculiar feeling. "Qunari are those of the qun. Has nothing to do with your skin, ears or horns. Tal-Vashoth are those who left the qun. Vashoth are not of the qun. No leaving it, since they were never part of it." She paused, looking up to make sure he was following. "I am Vashoth."

He took in the information slowly as the concern spread across his face for the second time. He stared worriedly at the knife in her hands. "Won't that hurt you?"

That stopped her. He had called her by her name, tried to stop her from killing herself and worried about her horns all in the span of a few minutes. She looked him over carefully again, wondering if she had misjudged him. Perhaps there was more of the laughing elf that kissed the blonde woman in the marketplace, than the hardened warrior that stood protecting a heinous man. It was an uncomfortable thought. She swallowed thickly. "Yes."

The distress on his face was plain. "I do not require your defense, Rees."

She snorted again and turned her attention back to the knife in her hands, glad to have somewhere other than sad green eyes to focus on. "Like shit you don't. You suck at fighting." That got a small laugh from him. It was the first she'd heard. She clenched her jaw and ignored it. Not the time to be bonding. "I need your help with this."

"This is suicide. I will  _not_ take part in this."

"You'll have the dishonoured and enslaved Vashoth saw off her own horns?" She said with amusement. "It is certainly fitting."

"That's not what I meant!" Anger touched his voice again. It was more familiar and Rees was thankful for it. "You cannot succeed here. It's not  _possible_."

She glared at him sharply, feeling her expression sour. "I killed three of my  _master's_ friends. Three magisters and one guard before they had me in chains. What makes you think Danarius-"

His hand was over her mouth the second his name fell from her lips. She was too surprised by the contact to react before he said, "If you kill him," he avoided the name, "there will be others. You are fast, but you are not invisible. Even without horns."

The look he gave her was pointed and angry. But she could also see the touch of concern now that she knew where to find it. It hit too close to home. She couldn't risk having a friend. Someone else to protect was more than she could manage right now. Someone she cared about was a weakness she could not afford when she had scarce little to brace herself with other than the idea that Danarius could not make her life worse.

Yet he had asked for her tonight as if to prove her wrong all in one sweep. She grit her teeth.

"So, what? Just  _tolerate_ it? Just  _let_ him-!" She trailed off furiously, unable to keep the disgust off her face. Fenris flinched again. He was right and she hated it. If she did kill him, there would be more. And if she managed to escape, he would not. He would bear responsibility if they discovered he'd cut off her horns. He would die for her-voluntarily or otherwise. She hissed and spat into the floorboards, fighting off the sting at the corners of her eyes and doing everything she could to think of Bethy.

"He is not so bad when he is not angry," he lied. They both knew it. She snuck a glance at his neck and even above the high black collar, she could see the shapes of fingers. She swore under her breath and threw the knife hard into the floor. The point of it bit into the soft wood and stood the blade on end but the hilt wobbled heavily until it toppled over.

Fenris did not move to take it from her, but he did wrap her hands in his own again. "Rees," he started but she shook her head.

"Don't, Fen." She sounded tired to her own ears. She sounded like  _him_. "Don't."


End file.
